


I Want You to Know

by Skyeec2



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt, Stream of Thought Writing, Violence against an animatronic, not very happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 08:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11642592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyeec2/pseuds/Skyeec2
Summary: Mangle-centric fic. I just want you to know what it's like to be broken.





	I Want You to Know

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be torn apart; to have your limbs ripped from your body and your insides pulled from inside you by tiny, delicate hands.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be unable to do anything to defend yourself from them, to be forced to stand there as they ruin you. To be unable to move as they tear your fur from your body and break you until there’s nothing more that they can break.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be put back together, day after day so that they can break you all over again. To have your limbs replaced haphazardly so that they’re barely attached to you because you’re only going to be broken again, so why waste the time to fix you properly.

I want you to know what it feels like.

For them to give up on fixing you, night after night. For them to decide that it’s too costly to keep fixing you and to leave you in your broken state, the mess of metal, wires and fur that you’ve been left in.

But they can’t scrap you. Oh no, that’d be too kind for you. Instead they make profit from your suffering; they make you into an attraction, encouraging those who broke you to come put you back together and tear you apart, over and over again. Until you’re just a mangled mess that barely resembles what you used to be.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be unable to move as you used to, to need to drag yourself on your broken limbs just to get out of the corner you’ve been shoved into; like some forgotten thing. To need to drag yourself along the wires of the ceiling just to get anywhere without dragging your expos skeleton along the hard floor, the ache and sparks that run through you when the floor is the only option keeps you in your corner.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To have them laugh at you as they stare at you with mocking smiles and tiny, delicate, pointing hands. For them to gawk and jeer at what they made of you, at how they destroyed you until there was nothing that could be done to fix you.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be unable to move as a swarm of them approached you and held you down, you won’t know why they bothered to do so as you would never have been able to bat them away from you. You weren’t programmed to protect yourself, only to entertain the children.

You could be replaced, the children could not.

I want you to know what it feels like.

As they reach into the mess of wires and metal that makes up your chest, searching, digging for something that they haven’t destroyed yet. There’s only one thing there that they could be after, the only thing they’ve never managed to break before.

The little box that contained your voice

I want you to know what it feels like.

As they wrap their hands around the box resting in what was once your throat, almost crushing it in their fingers. You can’t say anything to make them stop, vocals like that were never added to your voice box. So, you’re forced to repeat the programmed lines of your act as they start to tug on the little box.

I want you to know what it feels like.

As your voice starts to skip and stutter from the pressure of their fingers around your voice box and the insistent tugging of their hands as they start to pull it from its place. As your lines start to mix and blend together until one starts in the middle of another and the words start to mix together.

You can hear them goading each other on, talking over you as the hand around your voice box tightens once more and gives a more insistent tug on it.

I want you to know what it feels like.

As you feel it come loose and be crushed by the child’s hand. Your voice cuts out as the child’s hand pulls it from its place, dislodging it from where it rested. The child’s hand retreats from your exposed insides, notedly pleased by the damage they’ve done to you.

There’s a moment of silence as they look down at your broken form, before your voice box sparks back to life. It’s not what it used to be; gone are your recorded lines, replaced by a harsh, grinding, static-like noise. They recoil from you then, hands over their ears as they run from the corner you’ve been left in and the mechanical noise coming from what remains of your voice box.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be unable to do anything as they did so, to be unable to stop them because that’s not what you were made to do. You were meant to entertain the children and that’s what you would do, even if it left you broken and mangled. Even if they destroy you.

Nobody cares that you’re being broken, day after day. The children don’t come for you, they come for the others. The ones that remain whole at the end of every day, that get repaired the moment anything seems to go wrong with them.

Even the older models are treated better than this; they’re kept safe in Parts and Service, being recycled into their replacements. All but your previous model; it’s too different from you, the parts wouldn’t fit the way they do with the others.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To finally break.

For your programming to snap and suddenly you’re moving. It’s day, working hours and the place has been booked for a birthday party. You make your way out of your corner and along the ceiling until you reach the room filled with sounds.

Nobody notices you, too focused on the children and the others confined to the stage. You use that to your advantage.

You immediately focus on the form of the security guard, you don’t know if he’s one of the ones who keeps you broken, you don’t care. You move to him as quietly as you can, but the faint sounds of your exposed joints moving can’t be heard over the shrill, excited screams from the children or the sounds of the band playing.

You’re perched over him before you know it, waiting for the perfect moment to move.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To skin your teeth into the man’s flesh, so sharp even after everything that has happened to do. To pierce the skin and crush bone with a strength that no human could ever possess, caving in the skull and snapping on something soft and wet.

You pull away as quickly as you shot forward, tearing what you have in your jaw from the man’s skull and hanging silently in place.

The children are still screaming, but it’s completely different from what it was before you dropped down; they’re terrified. Everyone’s screaming around you, frantic to escape the room now that the guard’s bleeding out on the floor.

I want you to know what it feels like.

To be scrapped, deemed too dangerous to be kept.

You deserve after what you’ve done; you almost killed that guard, broke him like the children broke you.

They confine you to the back room to wait for someone to come dismantle you, to take apart what’s left of you and to destroy your programming until there’s nothing left of you.

You can’t escape the room, you can’t escape your fate.

The children broke you until you couldn’t be fixed anymore and when you finally managed to strike out against what was happening to you, you’re put down for being too dangerous.

You’re going to be destroyed for doing what had been done to you day after day with no consequence to those who did that to you. What a cruel fate.

I want you to…

I want…

I don’t want to be broken anymore.


End file.
